“You’re slipping.” Dare leaned forward. “Too much shit and not enough time.”
“I need a permanent solution to Bound—a way to keep them loyal. If I could do that, then the rest gets easier.”
* * *
Saturday night I opened a chest I’d kept closed all these years, inside was my Dom gear—a chest harness, bicep harnesses, leather pants and a leather mask I’d worn to masquerades back in the day.
At the bottom I uncovered a photo of Layla. I’d forgotten that photo—white-blond hair and blue eyes stared up at me. Her beauty smacked into me, making me remember the innocence I’d corrupted. She was gorgeous, naïve and dead. Not even eighteen when she’d killed herself, me barely a year older.
Do it. I forced myself to strap on the harness after I’d adjusted it out. My body wasn’t the same as when I was a kid. The metal ring pushed into my chest, and I focused on that sensation, letting the emotion, the memories fall away from me. I was doing what had to be done, and not even my promise could stand in the way of that. I slipped the mask into the waistband of the leather pants, pulled out my shiny black boots instead of the shit kickers I wore most days and I was ready to go. The harness felt tight on my skin yet good like finally I’d come back home.
I climbed on my Harley and sped away from the clubhouse before I could change my mind. This shit was too real, too much, and my skin crawled if I considered what I was doing for too long, so instead I planned my agenda for the night. See and be seen, watch Ren, and bring Marr closer to me. She was the key to Bound, but right now I wasn’t sure she even liked me, so I’d work on that.
Pulling into Bound, I was surprised at how full the lot was. Masquerades had become a lot more popular. Well that made my appearance twice as important. I parked the bike and considered doors. I’d take the front way in tonight. I tied on the leather mask that also acted as a do-rag. Head held high, I strode in the front door of Bound as a Dom for the first time in too many years.
Not two steps in the door and I froze. Marr was halfway across the lounge and she was beyond gorgeous dressed in her own body harness that outlined her tits and striped her torso and tiny waist. I started moving toward her, like a moth drawn to fire, I had to be near her. The harness attached to a G-string that left her pert ass bare down to those fucking red boots she’d worn in our session. A sensual creature, she soaked up the adoration as if it were her due, and of course it was.
“Marr.” I interrupted whatever man spoke.
She turned and her mouth formed a small o before she recovered and gave me her sex kitten smile.
Chapter Eight
Marr
Jericho dressed in leather was too sinful for words. He made my body ache and my exposed nipples pebble—I wanted his lips on me. He’d been on my mind and in my dreams since our session, now seeing him in full Dom mode lit up that part of me that was drawn to the alpha. No doubt Jericho was the most alpha man in this whole room, maybe on the whole damn planet.
With determination, I forced my gaze up to his amused expression, away from his amazing chest and even more amazing tattoos. He was basically covered from chest to beltline and shoulders to fingers. The ink fit him, made his feral beauty stark and arresting.
“Gentlemen, meet the President of the Jericho Brotherhood.” I dipped my head to him. “Jericho, this is Marcus—” I pointed to the salt-and-peppered older man behind her “—and Vince, two of Bound’s founding members.”
“No need for introductions, we’re old friends. Marcus helped me outfit my dungeon back in the day.” He clapped Marcus on the back before holding a hand out to Vince. “Been way too long.”
Shit. Of course he’d know the founding members, he was one himself. He had me befuddled with his six-foot tower of sexy. No other Dom even came close and he knew it.
Viper walked up. “Good to see you, brother. I’m getting ready to do a demonstration was hoping you would do one too.”
Without taking his eyes off me, he nodded. “Ropes?”
“That’s the one.” Viper smacked his back. “I’ll get a—”
“Marr, would you let me bind you?” His sexy rumble created sharp jolts of pleasure deep inside of me.
Shit. I wanted to say never, but everyone looked on. If I wanted him to be accepted, I had to do this and the smirk said the bastard knew the stakes and my response.
“Of course, if you’ll let me whip you?” I arched a brow, pleased at this exchange.
He threw his head back and laughed. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He winked at me. “Gentlemen, good to see you.” He slipped away with Viper without another word or look my way. The cheeky bastard.
I followed Viper and Jericho, wanting to watch Viper’s demonstration, Gigi said he was a first-rate showman, in fact, as at home in front of the camera as on the stage. Tonight several of the porn celebrities were here, and his sub was one.
“He puts on a good show.” Jericho’s deep rumble startled me. “I love a good spanking, or should I say giving a good spanking.”
I glanced up at him. He’d taken off his cut, but then the art on his body declared his alliance to the Brotherhood clearer than any cut ever could. His shoulders carried the words and the reaper decorated his body front and back.
“Like what you see?”
Chuckling, I patted his ass. “Oh yes, I do, but what I’m wondering is what those words are at your waistline.”
“Vires pares fide. Strength is loyalty.” Conviction rang in his words and he stood taller. It’s what Misty had said, he lived by loyalty.
The smack of leather to skin drew my attention to the stage. A leather shaving strap in hand, Viper connected again. Pleasure suffused his sub’s face. The black curtain background and wood floor almost faded from sight, drawing all attention to the beautiful blonde laid across a red leather spanking bench.
“Wish I had this on camera.” A tall black man stood on the other side of Jericho with a shorter, older blond beside him—Ollie. Val and I’d hung out with them a couple times. She and Ollie trained together.
Yummy. The way Bear stood proud, collared and leashed was sexy as hell. They were a couple that I’d love in my dungeons, almost as much as I wanted my next session with Jericho.
“Ten.” The blonde shouted in her breathy voice. The strap marked her again. “Nine.” Tears glistened in her eyes—a nice touch. The dance floor was crowded as most of those who’d come to the Masquerade stood in silence watching the demonstration. They were always popular but tonight even more than normal. Maybe because Viper was the new man in charge and the members wanted to see him in action. I’d wanted the same thing.
“I need Viper to make more movies for me.” Bear elbowed Jericho who grunted but didn’t respond.
He glanced my way and winked. “You too, Marr, come into my studio anytime.”
Snorting, I gave him a once-over. “Trade you minute for minute.”
Bear opened his mouth but Ollie cut him off. “No thank you.” And that fast Bear shut his mouth and faced front. So the collar wasn’t a show, but a true power exchange. Interesting. I hadn’t believed Val when she told me.
The girl on stage cried, “One,” and I’d swear she orgasmed on stage, either that or she was a damn fine actress. I clapped with the audience, even wolf whistling. Viper had done an expert demonstration, and his sub’s rosy ass wasn’t welted or bleeding—both showed his finesse and control. My respect for him grew. Viper stepped forward and two assistants helped his sub up and off stage.
“Thank you for joining our Summer Masquerade. Tonight we have the band Lone Wolf in the house.” Applause met that announcement. “But first a rare treat, Masters Marr and Jericho will each do demonstrations for you.” Whistles and stunned looks met the announcement that Jericho would perform. But none looked more speechless than Bear.
“J, you.” He clamped his mouth shut. Then a moment later he whispered to Ollie. “Fucking glad you decided to come.”
Ollie smirked and I bet the wily Master had ears in the club that told him all that went on here. Jericho held a hand out to me. “Ladies first.”
He was the President and should go last, although his choice of words tweaked my temper. “You’ll pay for that one.”
“Please, Mistress.” His quiet tone begged me for something, I just wished I knew what. I stepped forward and the crowd separated and I sashayed between them and onto the stage. Once I stood next to Viper, I gave a curtsy because I loved matching feminine gestures with my dominance. I owned every part of my gender—in fact being a woman gave me more power.
“A rare treat indeed.” I spoke when the applause quieted. “Seeing a Master discipline another excites even the most jaded appetites. Please welcome Master Jericho.” With no more of an introduction, Jericho strode to the front his dominance on full display. Sensuous. Striking. Dangerous. He knelt beside me still in his pants. Did he trust me that much to take the thirty lashes in such a confined area? Needing to ground myself, I stared out into the crowd which rustled with low conversations. Masquerade was a time for decadence and our patrons had come fully dressed in their favorite costumes. Latex and leather were by far the favorite choices and I knew that all too soon the lounge would empty as couples and groups made their way to private play spaces.
A St. Andrew’s Cross, a huge black metal X with handholds at each arm of the X, had been wheeled on stage behind me and positioned center stage. I loved the austere lines on the metal cross—it would be the perfect backdrop for the wild man beside me.
“Move to the cross,” I commanded.
Jericho stood and removed his harness with one click and dropped it to the stage along with his mask. Moving to the cross, he gave the audience his back as he placed hands and feet in the holds of the cross. I moved behind him. “Restraints?” I spoke low, for his ears only. “I will be giving thirty.”
He shook his head. “No, Mistress.”
“I will be doing both front and back.” Again I spoke for him only. Leaving on his pants gave me an extra challenge—thirty to just his torso without drawing blood was difficult. I’d have to work the rope with enough force to mark him, but without crossing the line to slicing his skin.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“My command to change positions is ‘turn.’”
“Yes, Mistress.”
He showed me far more respect than in our private session, but this was a show with many agendas—the biggest one no doubt was to show our collaboration. My reputation enhanced his. Of course, he’d shouted dominance by his choice in clothing and by doing his own demonstration after being whipped. Masterful indeed. My body thrummed with awareness already turned on by his attitude. I was in so much trouble. His masculine musk mixed with leather invaded my nose and drew me deeper into our connection. I wanted him more than I had in our last session and I hadn’t even begun.
“You will count.” I spoke louder now, wishing my music was playing in the background.
“Yes, Mistress.” His volume matched mine.
Unsnapping the whip, I circled and brought it down on his left shoulder.
“One,” he snapped out.
With fast precision I peppered his back with strikes as he counted them out loud. The sound of whip to flesh excited me almost as much as the red welts it left behind. To his credit, he never flinched, let alone tried to step away from a strike. Once we hit ten, I needed to see his face. “Turn.”
He flipped and laced his fingers through the restraints, a light hold—another statement of strength. However the bulge in the leather said he was interested and before I was done he’d be panting.
The way his eyes drank me in, the whip cracking around me, and my body on display created a sense of power that expanded with each strike—I was a goddess. I let the first crack fall to his shoulders. His nostrils flared and he spat out the next number.
We continued our dance, each strike more personal, our eyes locked in a battle of lust and dominance, and this one wasn’t a bit contrived. I used every bit of my restraint to not walk up and fuck his mouth with mine, stroke his cock and show everyone that I could own this man. My breathing was fast and my pulse pounded as I held myself in check. But that didn’t stop my arousal from tearing down my defenses, leaving an opening for Jericho to barge straight into the softness I worked so hard to protect.
At five I let the whip dance around me again, putting on a show for the audience. I glimpsed Ren in the crowd, anger lit his face as he turned and left the demonstration. Satisfaction shot through me. Without looking his way, I landed the next strike and then two more.
“Twenty-eight.” His voice labored, he clamped his jaw tight with his pulse ticking there. I savored his arousal. Power intoxicated me and I needed to taste him, touch him, take him. Tonight he’d belong to me.
I struck low at his waistline and his eyes widened. “Twenty-nine.”
With a precision that challenged me, I landed the last strike on his Brotherhood tattoo over his heart. “Thirty.”
I turned to the audience and curtsied, snapping my whip to circle so I could put it away. I heard him go to his knees but I didn’t look his way. I held my arms wide and accepted the adulation of the audience. Power filled me. I forgot how much I enjoyed demonstrations, especially with my favorite prey—the alpha male.
One last curtsy and I turned to exit the stage into the wings until it was my turn to submit to Jericho’s will. I tried to bring down my shield and repair the hole in my defenses but I was too far gone, drunk on power and possibility. My body coursed with the adrenaline from the show mixed with anticipation of what was to come. This was so risky and I had a lot to lose—my heart was engaged and that made everything that came next so much more dangerous for me. If Jericho was going to succeed at making his mark at Bound, it was a risk I had to take.
Jericho knelt, hair covering his face in a pose of full submission—damn that made me wet. From backstage I watched as he stood and walked to the other side and off stage opposite of me. His welt-covered body excited me. I knew he was just as turned on as me because I’d had him in my dungeon, had taken his measure. That man ate up pain, it fueled him maybe more than pleasure.
While I waited for the stage to be reset, I stripped naked, taking off my harness and red boots. This was what a normal woman would do and I planned to give him the same respect he gave me. He’d been a perfect sub for me. Leaving his pants on had been a bold statement of trust, only the most talented Masters could give thirty lashes in such a confined area without breaking skin. For rope play he’d need my full body on display, so I’d return the favor by giving up all signs of my Master status.
Whistles and stomps made me look out front to see Jericho had returned fully harnessed but without his mask. The man might be more masochist than sadist after all. The leather straps would rub every one of the welts I gave him, not that he showed any hint of discomfort. He had brought out two coils of red rope and now he adjusted a simple metal bar that would hold my hands. Glancing out at the crowd, if anything, it had increased. Apparently everyone was interested in the kind of man the new President was. Seeing a Master work was always revealing since you couldn’t hide who you were while you practiced your craft. Who was Jericho? It appeared I wasn’t the only one who wanted to know. If Misty hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have guessed he hadn’t practiced in years.
Anticipation lit me up as I imagined the configuration he’d tie on me. I loved sensation play and couldn’t wait to feel the rope against my skin. The single bar was another sign of respect or challenge—without support at my feet, I’d have to control my movements and posture as he bound me. It was akin to walking a balance beam to keep my posture and positioning on my own. Pleasure rippled through me as I star
ed at the setup. I’d been in training the last time I’d been bound in a demonstration. Yet, I wanted this more than was good for me, awakening this curiosity spelled trouble for me—men like Jericho were a weakness that had screwed me in the past. He hadn’t even touched me and I was ready to beg him to come home with me—I was in serious fucking trouble and I loved it. That’s the part I hadn’t anticipated—how much I’d want him.
“Now this is by far the biggest compliment I’ve received in many a day, please welcome Mistress Marr to the stage as my assistant.”
Quiet hushed through the crowd as I walked out totally nude. Low whispers rustled but no one spoke. Jericho and my public exchange sent a strong message—only the closest Masters, those who truly trusted and respected each other, allowed another Master to dominate them. Because it was so rare, audiences ate these demonstrations up. I was eating it up too, not good, but I was beyond pulling back now. Pulses of desire beat low in my belly in time with my heartbeat. Excitement bloomed inside of me yet another part worried that after this demonstration he’d own a bit of me. I steeled my heart and hoped it was enough to keep him from claiming more than my body.
He turned and eyes flared when he saw me in my birthday suit. Ripples of pleasure cascaded through me. His gaze was so intense I could almost forget about the audience who watched our every move. He prowled toward me until his mouth was inches from my ear. “Feet free?”
“Yes, Master.” I purred the two words and he smiled wider. Unlike the brutality of my whip, rope play was a seductive, intimate act.
He grabbed a length of red rope from behind me. “You are breathtaking, Marr.”
I loved the seductive words and they made my heart flutter, filling with emotion. “Thank you, Master.” After our first session, I’d wanted him, before the first rope rubbed me, he’d made it past my defenses and now I had no idea how I’d find distance before we were alone again. If I didn’t, I could become the slave instead of the Master—my taunt may come back to bite me. I’d find a way because I was no one’s slave.
Deny: A Dark, Erotic Motorcycle Club Romance Page 9